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I kept glancing at my watch, anxiously searching for a quick way to finally end the chat with Jörg, aka "Sunboy86." I'd already texted him several times that I had to leave, but he simply ignored me. All that mattered to Jörg was that we finally met. Just for a coffee, he promised in every email.
“Tom!” called Father from the kitchen, repeatedly warning that the discount store was about to close.
It didn't help. I clicked away from the chat window without saying goodbye. Jörg would surely express his disappointment at the abrupt termination, or he might even ignore me in the future. "Oh well," I thought, and set off.
The graffiti in the elevator interested me just as little as the countless graffiti in the main entrance and on the walls of the buildings. In the adjacent parking lot, cars were rusting away, some of whose windows were already smashed. There was always a musty smell between the bulk waste containers, and small children were playing there, of all places. For me, that was a sure sign that I had arrived in the real world. Up there in the eighteenth block, I had the feeling I was above it all, a little closer to the clouds. With over a hundred residential units spread across eighteen floors, I considered this concrete block a microcosm of the urban universe as a child. Since then, I've corrected my fantasy and now see the high-rise as nothing more than an ordinary residential fortress. While up high the windows glistened in the summer sun, the constant problems of living together down here were far more visible and intruded on the residents' every sense. The apartment complex was constantly spewing out bulky waste, people were moving in and out, people of different nationalities were mixing and changing entire living cultures. In addition to thefts and break-ins, loud arguments between residents were not uncommon. Strategies for avoiding each other or better securing one's apartment were developed. I firmly believed that the higher one ascended in the elevator, the more peaceful and balanced one's life was in one's small environment.
I bumped into Ronny in front of the discount store. Ronny sat next to me until ninth grade. When tenth grade began, he simply stopped coming to school. Since then, he's been seen hanging around here almost every day. A beer can in his hand, ripped jeans, and a hoodie were also his friends' trademarks.
“Hey Tom!” he called to me, “bring me a beer?”
Trying to remain impersonal, I silently gave him the middle finger. At the time, I was still urging Ronny to go back to school, but he preferred it that way. What freedom meant to him remained a mystery to me.
As I placed the items on the checkout belt, Ms. Helbig, one of the cashiers at the discount store, greeted me warmly. She lived on the same floor, and since last week I'd even learned that she could scream quite loudly.
"Hmm, I guess they'll be having cabbage rolls this weekend," she said, as she ran the items through the scanner. She also gave me that friendly, motherly smile again, which made me a little embarrassed. I was perfectly fine with Father meeting women every now and then. But just last week something happened that still embarrasses me. I had to go to the bathroom at night. When I opened the door, I found Father in the shower with that same brunette woman. Before I even realized what was going on and that she probably wished she had more than two hands to cover everything at once, her high-pitched scream was still ringing in my ears. Shocked, my urge to go disappeared and I quickly turned around.
I paid for the six-pack of beer with my pocket money, and as I pushed the cart outside, I gave Mrs. Helbig my “OK” for the greeting to my father.
I first hid the pack of beer in the basement and then went upstairs.
Father was busy preparing dinner.
“Didn’t you forget anything?” he asked.
“Don’t think so,” I said, and gave him the greeting of his “flame.”
"Tom! Please, she's not my 'flame,' more of a good friend," he cleared his throat and began his explanation, which I had long since heard.
She was very nice, and purely by chance, she lived right around the corner. Of course, he left out the whole thing about my late-night appearance in the bathroom. He thought I was old enough and enlightened. Surely I'd kissed girls by now. Fortunately, there was no further discussion about what he assumed I was capable of.
“It’s OK,” I reassured him and immediately took one of his sandwiches.
I was sure Michael and Sascha were already waiting for me and glanced at the clock. We regularly met on Fridays in Michael's father's garage. Since it hadn't housed a car for a long time and there was no prospect of one, we converted it into a sort of clubhouse. We pulled a couch and armchairs out of the bulky waste, and we even found a table underneath. Sascha swapped the lamp for a battered chandelier, and when Michael also brought in a serviceable grill, we had the perfect club oasis.
“Do you want to leave?” asked Father, referring to the fact that I was swinging my leg.
“To Michael.”
On television, they were showing Father's most important program, the news. It was a safe moment for me to get away without any additional questions or reprimands.
"Well then."
I still enjoyed counting the floors. Nine, eight, seven – when the elevator stopped and the door opened. Old Kohlmann came in and immediately beamed when he saw me.
"Hello Tom," he said quietly and exaggeratedly friendly. Kohlmann tugged at his silk scarf.
„Hi.“
Although I had nothing to fear, I took a step back. He extended his hand, but I ignored it.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked, still smiling, and I saw his gold tooth flash.
I shook my head wordlessly and waited longingly for the elevator to arrive in the basement.
The memory of our first meeting was unpleasant for me, and since then, I've always been relieved when the elevator passed the seventh floor without stopping. I even blamed my father for visiting him two months ago, as he determined the amount of my pocket money based on his own educational criteria. In our constant arguments about the fact that I occasionally came home slightly tipsy after leaving the garage party on Fridays, he sometimes drastically cut my pocket money.
I'd long considered the basement storage room the best place to hide my little secrets from my father. When he decided to finally tidy it up and clear it out, I immediately offered to do it myself, as a good deed, so to speak. And while I was at it, old Kohlmann suddenly appeared. At first, we chatted in general terms about almost trivial everyday things. He was also bothered by the constant changes of residents in the house and the fact that he'd felt quite alone since his wife's death. The way he stood there in his (to me) old-fashioned clothes with the silk scarf, I actually found him funny, and we laughed a lot.
Finally, he asked me if I was confident enough to change a power outlet.
When he promised me that I would be paid properly, I agreed.
His apartment's interior resembled a museum to me, but it was clean and everything was neatly organized. He showed me the electrical outlet in the hallway, and I asked him to switch on the fuse. The switch was quick and easy.
He thanked me and stood in the living room with a bottle of champagne. I was surprised, but he assured me that, of course, I'd get my money's worth. I couldn't say I enjoyed the champagne. Kohlmann chatted about his music collection and casually asked me if I had a girlfriend. When I said no, he looked at me in disbelief that such a handsome boy as I was wouldn't have one. We laughed about it, but I stubbornly kept quiet about the real reason.
After another glass, the old man chatted about the relaxed way today's youth interact with each other. Several times, I found myself laughing out loud at the way he mispronounced or mixed up words. I found him really likeable, the way he joked about his own experiences. I willingly pushed my empty glass over. Kohlmann came over to me with the filled glasses in his hands, and I stood up out of respect.
As he talked about how I could give him a little treat, I felt a certain looseness, which was certainly due to the champagne.
I laughed and said I'd already done that. But Kohlmann looked at me intently, almost pleadingly. When he then gently suggested that I let him watch me shower, my breath caught in my throat. My first thought was: get out of here, get out of here!
I still remembered the bland aftertaste of the champagne very well. The resulting silence was overwhelming, and I even searched for a powerful way to please the old man.
Kohlmann kept that pleading expression on his face. I had certainly gathered a ton of information from the internet about the most bizarre sexual manifestations. The fact that some people warned about it stuck with me. But when I saw Kohlmann looking so sadly bent over, I wondered if there really was any serious danger posed by this old man. Basically, I thought he was rather pitiable. So just watch, I assured myself, and he nodded vigorously.
I hesitantly got up and went into the bathroom. In front of the mirror, I told myself, "You've got it under control!" Kohlmann was definitely keeping it to himself, my thoughts pounded.
As I pulled my T-shirt over my head, I shivered. Kohlmann watched persistently from the hallway. I forced myself to calm down and unbuttoned my jeans. No, don't do it, I commanded myself! No, no! The door slammed shut and I turned the key. The thought of Kohlmann seeing me naked suddenly became unbearable. I listened to see if Kohlmann was perhaps eavesdropping. Let him keep his money, I reminded myself. I blamed the champagne for getting me this far.
Kohlmann was waiting for me. His gentle smile and the way he stood in the hallway reminded me more of a goblin. He repeatedly assured me that nothing had happened. He gratefully handed me a fifty-dollar bill. I hesitated to accept it. Finally, he pressed it into my hand. When he said it would remain our secret, I hurried out of the apartment.
Two, one, E, and the elevator stopped. Kohlmann walked out and turned around. As the door closed, he stretched his arm between them.
"Tom. Maybe we can talk sometime?" he asked. I turned away without saying a word. What did he want? I demanded that he never speak to me again.
Again he pushed against the door. Why is no one here, I wondered frantically. Usually, there were always residents standing here waiting for the elevator.
Since I didn't say anything, he climbed back in. In the basement, he followed me to the shed and begged me to say something.
I took the pack of beer out of the hiding place and Kohlmann didn't let me pass.
“Please, Tom.”
"No!" I snarled at him and pushed him aside. Kohlmann leaned weakly against the wall, looking frightened. I hurriedly left the basement. On the way to the garage, I forced myself to calm down.
"Hey, man!" Sascha greeted me. "It's about time! We're starving."
Michael waved his hand wildly, fanning the embers of the grill. The sausages still looked pale, though. We greeted each other. I was surprised to see Katja and Helen giggling on the couch, but I greeted them warmly.
Sascha exchanged a promising look with me, and I suppressed a conspicuous grin. Since last weekend, Michael and Katja seemed to be a couple. Sascha tried to get involved with Helen, but she turned him down.
We had actually agreed that there would be no girls on Fridays. From the looks of things, Sascha had broken the agreement. Perhaps he was still hoping to get a hold of Helen.
Of all the boys, he was the loudmouth who liked to cheat. That's basically how he managed to graduate from school. I connected with Michael more with his calm, matter-of-fact nature. I found trust and reliability in him. In that sense, both had their quirks, and I was fine with that. At school, we were considered inseparable, and when we celebrated our final exams in the garage, it was Sascha, of all people, who wanted us to maintain our friendship in the future.
I found a seat with the girls who were sucking on their Cokes.
Sascha grabbed a new can of beer and toasted a great evening. Katja and Helen giggled and whispered something in each other's ears. Michael gave up and collapsed into his chair.
“Well, we’ll have to get a professional to do it,” I said, taking the grill away from the garage.
“Exactly, Tom is the best with the sausage!” Sascha yelled and the girls laughed out loud.
Sascha certainly didn't win any extra points with Helen with such remarks, but you never quite knew what he was referring to. I was more surprised by Michael, who seemed so completely uninvolved. He sipped his beer without saying a word and seemed genuinely uncomfortable.
“Hey Tom, do you want to go somewhere else today?” asked Sascha, glancing at my pack of beer.
“Nope!” I just said, because the sausages urgently needed to be turned.
“That’s only enough for an hour,” he babbled amusedly, pointing vividly to his two crates of beer.
I gave him the middle finger. Since the start of the holidays, I'd often seen him drunk, and it was really annoying me.
“Will it be long?” asked Helen.
"Drink beer, it's more filling than your Coke," Sascha interjected, and had to endure Helen sticking her tongue out at him. Oh, oh, I thought, amused, this isn't going to work.
“Well, I’d say five minutes,” I estimated, splashing the last of the beer over the sausages.
Half an hour later, the girls refused to eat a second sausage. We boys then tucked in again and thoroughly enjoyed it with plenty of mustard.
Sascha laughed and sucked on the sausage, and the girls found it obscene. With Sascha, you always had to be prepared for him to behave inappropriately. He would sometimes lift his leg and let you masturbate, or he would unashamedly play with his crotch. Only when I saw him shirtless could I hardly take my eyes off him. I also found it really hot that his pubic hair reached down to his belly button. Where he got his muscular body from remained a mystery to me, as he didn't do much sport. I only knew Michael as reserved and withdrawn. Sometimes he wouldn't utter a word for hours. He was also the last of us to realize that he didn't just use his cock for peeing. Michael was more of the stocky type. His face combined with Sascha's body, in my imagination, that was the ideal idea of a boyfriend. But who was lucky enough to have such a perfect boyfriend?
“Sascha, pull yourself together,” I admonished him comradely.
"Hey. Is yours that long too?"
I silently ignored his question and preferred to take a bite of the sausage. The girls giggled at every further comment from Sascha, who already seemed tipsy.
Katja had been sitting with Michael for a long time, constantly stroking his dark curls.
“So Michael wanted to go to the disco with me,” Katja said suddenly, “… are you coming with me?”
I looked questioningly at Sascha and also at Michael, who remained motionless. The disappointment on Sascha's face was unmistakable.
“Well, you shouldn’t stop travelers,” said Sascha, which should have hit Michael.
The mood had noticeably dropped, and shortly after ten, I was sitting in the garage with Sascha. He was leisurely drinking one can of beer after another.
“I have to go,” I said into the silence, and basically I wanted to be alone for a while.
“Come with me,” slurred Sascha.
I waited until Sascha found a spot by the hedge and stayed a safe distance from him. Not out of fear that he'd pee on me, but somehow I couldn't do it with him standing next to me. Sascha didn't care, and I watched him play with the stream.
As we walked back, Sascha said disappointedly that the whole friendship was falling apart because of Michael and Katja.
“Maybe a few more weeks,” he said dejectedly, “then everyone will go their own way.”
“Nonsense, maybe you’re just jealous of Katja.”
Sascha waved his hand and finished his beer.
“Oh, Tom,” he continued thoughtfully, “you’re doing your training and me?”
"You'll find an apprenticeship too," I retorted. But that didn't manage to cheer Sascha up. He casually threw himself into his chair and hung his head.
Sascha wanted to become a mechatronics engineer, but couldn't find an apprenticeship anywhere. Michael started training as an IT technician at the end of August, and then I started training to be a nurse. My two friends were amazed when I completed an internship at a hospital last year and later announced my career choice. Even my father was surprised when I persevered. I found working in a hospital interesting and I enjoyed it. But if I were honest, I didn't necessarily want it for the service to people. I was more impressed by the nurse Jochen, and somehow I imagined seeing him again like that.
Sascha nodded silently and took another big swig from the can. Finally, he turned up the music and danced around. Sometimes he made me laugh when he tried to do special steps. Finally, he pulled me up, and we staggered to the music.

The summer sun had long since shone into the room, and since it was just before noon, I got up. Although it was quiet, I had gotten into the habit of listening first at the bathroom door. Just to be on the safe side. Dad was already dressed and sitting in the living room at his laptop.
“Well, young man,” he said without looking up.
„Moin.“
The sun was blinding my face and I rubbed my eyes.
"Tom, it was well past midnight," he began, and I already knew everything that followed. Oh man, couldn't he just think of something else.
“Yeah, okay,” I replied sleepily and yawned.
As always in such moments, he explained to me that it wasn't really a good idea to be in the garage complex at night. There were far too many break-ins and robberies there. Again, he emphatically told me to finally accept it.
I preferred to stand up and gently pat him on the shoulder, as if trying to make him more conciliatory.
As the computer booted up and I entered the colorful virtual world called the Internet, I read the predicted email from "Sunboy86," aka Jörg. As expected, he wrote to me that I was no better than the others who arrogantly used their youth to humiliate people like him, who meant well and were honest. His greeting was simply "Fuck you!"
Well, another one who thinks he knows me, I thought about it for a moment and blocked him for the future. I certainly didn't consider myself one of those people who used the chat to show off their youthful bodies without any restrictions or slacking. I remained completely honest with my statements and a few pictures, except that I pretended to be eleven months older. The age thing was necessary for registration, and I considered it a white lie.
Compared to other users, I was a complete idiot. At seventeen years old and with all the theoretical knowledge I've accumulated from the internet, I still haven't been to a single trendy bar in town, and I've never been to the disco at the "Kuckucksei." Hey guys, I still have no clue about the whole gay thing. I'm still at the lowest rung of the ladder of experience, will you finally acknowledge that?
Since there were no further messages, I clicked away from the chat and went to take a shower.
Unlike my father, I locked the door behind me. In the shower, I thought for a moment about old Kohlmann. I have no idea why. And as I thought about him, I found him a pitiful creature.
I resisted further thoughts because I felt he didn't deserve my pity.
“Tom? Open up,” Father asked.
“Wait,” I was glad he pulled me out of my thoughts.
I opened the door a crack.
Dad awkwardly explained that he was going to the beach with his nice neighbor and I didn't have to worry. As if I ever had to worry. I took it easy and generously gave him permission to go to the beach.
“And,” I added, raising my index finger, “don’t let them drown.”
He laughed shyly and said goodbye.
Later, I found a twenty-euro note on my desk. It basically said, "Buy yourself something to eat and otherwise, have a nice day."
Alone in the apartment, I liked to walk around naked without any embarrassment. In the kitchen, I made myself a sandwich. As I chewed, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I was downright skinny. It bothered me that my shoulders seemed bony, my upper arms far too thin, and that my ribs were visible when I took a breath. I found it hard to imagine anyone like that even attracting me. Lots of users wrote to me saying they thought I was cute. Whatever they meant by that, they were referring to my face. Maybe it was necessary for me to finally put a naked, full-body photo on my profile. But no, then I'd get offers for food donations, I joked quietly and ran to my room.
I turned on the player, and when Justin Timberlake started playing, I mimed singing Justin. I jumped onto my bed, dancing, and surrendered to the music.
Exhausted, I collapsed onto it and looked at Justin, who had been decorating my room for ages.
The cell phone rang and Michael answered.
"Hi," he greeted me and asked if I was okay. I said yes and asked about yesterday's disco visit.
“Very good,” he said calmly, “too bad, but you didn’t want to come.”
“Listen,” I feigned indignation, “Fridays… we agreed that…”
“Oh, Tom,” he interrupted me, “do you really think it’s great when Sascha just gets drunk?”
While I was still thinking about it, Michael added that he had been finding this repulsive for some time.
“What are you doing today?” I asked immediately, as the twenty euros on the desk reminded me that I could already afford something.
"Katja and I are going to her grandparents' house. We want to stay there until tomorrow."
“Hmm,” I replied, somewhat disappointed, “have fun then.”
“So Tom, I’ll be in touch…see you then,” I heard.
Of course, Katja was important to him, but I also got the feeling that there must be more going on with him. Michael could be really complicated sometimes. I wanted to call Sascha, but then I hung up the phone. Basically, I agreed with Michael. I'd often noticed that I was withdrawing more and more from my friends on Fridays. When Michael helped me understand computers better, that's probably where it started. I sat in front of the screen for hours and felt more and more that I wanted to know everything about boys and that I was genuinely attracted to them. On the internet, I found answers to all the questions that had been bothering me up until then. The more I realized that I was different, the more afraid I became that my friends would notice.
I found it just as impossible to talk about it with Michael as it was with Sascha, who was more inclined to chase the "swine," as he called them, out of town. When I secretly considered us the "ideal trio," I had to laugh at the mere idea that between Michael, the more intelligent one, and Sascha, the trashy one, I was the one playing the gay guy.
More and more often, I denied myself to my friends and skulked around the streets where the "Café Regenbogen" or "Coming In" and the "Kuckucksei" disco were located. The little I saw made me even more insecure, but also fueled my longing to belong. So, so far, it's remained only chats.
I became more confident during the chats and slowly began to differentiate between the users. I soon found it boring to log in at night, as it was mostly about exchanging lower bodies via cam or simply engaging in cybersex. Especially since it was mostly older men. If the user insisted on meeting up soon, I would write evasively because my insecurity still overcame my curiosity. In the end, many people wrote, like "Sunboy86."
I finally got dressed and logged back into the chat.
Still no new messages, but that didn't mean it would stay that way forever. I waited and visited a few of my special pages, which mostly featured pictures of guys in explicit poses. I thought many of the guys embodied the definition of cute.
I received an email from the user “John89”.
'Hello Tom, nice to see you here. I'm Benjamin, but my friends usually call me Ben. Since I'm your age and also from the city, take a look at my profile, and if you'd like to, I'd be happy if you contacted me. Greetings, Ben,' I read and clicked on his profile. To my general disappointment, there was no picture of Ben. I also read that he was a high school student and liked music. He also said that he was looking to meet guys, share experiences, and maybe more.
That read quite well, I thought, and answered with my almost standard sentences.
'Hi Ben, thanks for your email. I'm glad I piqued your interest. You could already see from my profile that I graduated from high school and will soon begin an apprenticeship. To be honest, I can't really help with a specific exchange of experiences, but that doesn't have to be a hindrance if we still want to continue to exchange ideas. Regards, Tom.'
The response took a while, and I was just about to go back to the photo page when Ben wrote back that he was happy and that I'd misunderstood the specific experiences. He then asked if I was friends with anyone.
In my reply, I pointed out that I already had friends, but they were heterosexual.
Ben stated that he had a best friend who had also already informed him of his homosexuality and who helped him come to terms with it. Beyond that, he wasn't ready to come out yet. He found it difficult to talk about it in general. Therefore, he believed this was a good opportunity. Unfortunately, a lot of things have gone wrong for him in the chat so far, and he considered logging off.
Well, not so fast, I thought, and wrote back that I wasn't happy about everything either, but over time I realized that you also have to be patient. This time I also mentioned that I missed a photo of him.
Again, I had to wait a while for a reply. So I looked at a few more cute boys and put a new CD in the player. In the late afternoon, the sun painted orange clouds across the sky, creating a warm glow.
In his reply, Ben apologized for the lack of a picture. He stated that he was afraid of being recognized by the boys from his high school. But if we continued to chat for a while, he would email me a picture later. If I couldn't wait that long, he would understand if I ended the chat.
Are you crazy, I thought, I can wait, and I wrote to him. He also told him that his fears were unfounded, because if a boy had registered here, it would only be the one who was gay; others wouldn't be interested.
Around 6:00 p.m., when Ben had to say goodbye, I realized how quickly the time had passed. I promised Ben I'd save it. As he went offline, I looked through our chat again and got a good feeling. His writing was mostly matter-of-fact, but he could also be quite funny. Delighted to have made his acquaintance, I went to the kitchen to satisfy my hunger.
Sascha called and immediately asked if I was coming to the garage.
"Dude! I still have enough beer here for both of us."
"Man, Sascha, not again," I retorted, searching for another excuse. I wasn't at all happy that Sascha wanted to meet me at the moment. My thoughts revolved around the chat with Ben, and then I seriously considered going to the "Kuckucksei" disco after all.
“Man, old man! Then I’ll just drink alone,” he said angrily, sounding sad at the same time.
"Okay. But not all evening, and not for another hour, OK?"
“OK Tom, see you later.”
I felt torn. On the one hand, I was sad that Michael was going his own way and pursuing his own interests, making me feel guilty about Sascha. But for me, hanging out with Sascha just meant wasting the evening drinking pointlessly.
I opened the closet and looked for suitable clothes. I opted for dark jeans and one of the gray shirts. Armed with this, I went downstairs and followed the musty smell to the garage complex. Sascha had left the gate open and was sitting in the armchair. It was hard to tell how much he'd already drunk, but his eyes already had a certain gleam.
“Hey man! You took your time,” he greeted me and pushed a can of beer toward me.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
Sascha shrugged indifferently, indicating that he wasn't quite sure if he hadn't even slept there. The player was playing some kind of hip-hop sound, which I couldn't really relate to.
“Katja got him under her thumb quickly,” he said knowingly, waving his arm wildly.
“Nonsense, not Micha,” I claimed.
I drank slowly, hoping at least to ensure that Sascha wouldn't pressure me to drink more. If I actually went to the disco, I didn't want to arrive drunk.
“They’re going to their grandma’s today, what’s this shit about?”
"I have no idea," I answered honestly, because I had no clue about any of this. Six months ago, Helen started trying to get close to me. But the closer she got to me, the more I resisted. I found one excuse after another until she called me an idiot. For a while, I became the laughingstock of the class. I preferred to endure the comments of my classmates than to have to justify myself to her.
“Do you think he’s already banged her?” Sascha thought out loud and took another sip of his beer.
“Even if,” I replied, “it’s none of our business.”
“Helen is a stupid cow!” he yelled, throwing the empty can behind him.
“Oh Sascha,” I wanted to cheer him up, “there are other girls.”
"Right!" Sascha shouted and went outside. He staggered toward the hedge, and I saw him stumble. Sascha got up and reached the hedge. I ran a few steps toward him and saw that he was swaying heavily.
“Don’t you want to go home?” I asked him, but Sascha fell forward into the hedge.
His feet remained motionless and I ran over.
“Sascha!” I called, but it looked like he didn’t hear me.
As best I could, I got him out of the hedge and pulled him closer to the garage. He was lying on the couch, completely out of it. Then I noticed that there were already more than ten cans of beer lying behind the chair.
I called his name again, but there was no response. Finally, I just thought about how best to help him. Since I had no other choice, I went to his house and informed his mother.
I could clearly see that his father was quite annoyed. In the garage, he wasn't exactly gentle with Sascha. Two slaps in the face didn't bring Sascha back to his senses, and his father grabbed him and carried him away without a word.
For a moment, I sat in my chair, wondering if I'd done the right thing. But then I told myself there was no other way. So I tipped away the beer from the half-empty cans, unscrewed the safety lock, and locked the door. I put the key in our hiding place.
At home I took off the sweaty shirt and opted for a black one.
The sun had long since sunk into the horizon and darkness fell over the city when I set off for the “Cuckoo’s Egg”.
Since I wasn't in a hurry, I deliberately didn't take the tram. The walk was long enough that I could muster up the courage to get on it.
The "Cuckoo's Egg" was actually a gymnasium that had been remodeled several times. I only knew the old school itself as a ruin. What I did know from the website was that there was a dance hall, a so-called socializing area, and several bars that provided a pleasant atmosphere. The photos on the website were from previous disco nights and showed boys laughing happily.
A few young people stood in front of the brightly lit entrance, enjoying themselves. They chatted while smoking, then wandered around and talked to other boys.
From across the street, I watched the scene reflected in the shop window. I took several deep breaths, seeking inner peace.
Having reached the point of being a real man, I crossed the street. I ignored the stares of those around me and searched purposefully for the cash register. In a so-called vestibule, where teenagers were also sitting, I oriented myself according to those in front of me and reached the cash register. The young man looked up briefly. Without a word, he exchanged my money for his money and stamped the back of my hand. As I continued walking, the music slowly getting louder, I didn't look left or right. Cold sweat formed on my forehead. Flashing, rotating colored spotlights, along with a dream dance sound, announced that I had reached my destination. I looked for a free spot among all the boys running around or dancing. I squeezed my way through them and found a suitable spot against the wall.
Once there, I wiped the sweat from my brow and felt a little relieved. Slowly, I began to focus on the details. I found the two bar counters and noticed that at each end, scantily clad guys were moving rhythmically on the pole. The DJ was positioned high up. I didn't know if it was the lights, the music, or the cute guys on the poles; I felt increasingly excited. Most of the dancers were showing their bare torsos. Around me, the guys sat in small groups, laughing, drinking, smoking, and most importantly, they didn't take any notice of me. So far, none of my fears had been confirmed, and I decided to go to the bar.
After a bit of pushing and nudging, I made it to the front of the bar and pointed at a Coke. Talking seemed pointless at that volume. The keeper heard me anyway, and with the first sip, I also washed down the lump in my throat.
Since it was enough for me to look around, I returned to my spot by the wall. I still couldn't find the entrance to the meeting area, but that wasn't important to me at the moment. What I saw was enough, I thought, and drank my Coke. The music played nonstop and the dance floor never emptied. I got used to the bright, colorful light and saw the gallery above me. There were guys sitting there too, watching the action from above. When DJ Rosenstolz started playing, the dancing crowd bellowed along to the lyrics. The mood intensified and even took hold of me. Since I didn't have to worry about being heard, I sang loudly, "I am me, this is my fault alone." I took a deep breath of relief. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blond man wearing a white sleeveless shirt appeared in front of me.
“Are you new here?” he shouted at me and laughed heartily.
Because I was a little startled, I just nodded.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked kindly.
Before I could say anything, he pulled me onto the dance floor. Hesitantly, I began to follow the rhythm. Still self-conscious, I just watched the boy, who was exuberantly giving himself over to the music.
His light blond hair contrasted beautifully with his sun-tanned skin, which the white shirt further emphasized. His tight cutoff jeans almost tickled my fancy.
“Bastian!” he called in my ear and laughed again.
“Tom!” I shouted back, even managing a smile.
Bastian was a good mover, and he certainly got plenty of looks from people sitting there. I did think he was good-looking. But I was more concerned with what he might expect from me. I estimated his age to be around 20 and placed him somewhere between a student and at least a working young man. But I've never been that good at guessing.
"Come on, let's go!" Bastian immediately took my hand. I followed him without protest. He opened a pair of double doors. In the short hallway, I could practically feel the curious glances of those standing around. Bastian led me into a room bathed in soft light, furnished with armchairs and coffee tables.
"It's easier to have a conversation here," he said kindly, directing me to a chair. The music was similar to that in the hall, only quieter. From the seats already occupied, it seemed to me that everyone already knew each other quite well. Not only were people kissing, but some were also on a journey of discovery.
“Tom, what would you like to drink?” Bastian asked.
“Coke please.”
Bastian disappeared, and I had time to assess what was happening around me more closely. I didn't find it unusual that people sometimes kissed in front of strangers. What was a bit odd, however, was that some of the submerged hands made very explicit gestures toward their partners. Embarrassed, I wrung my hands and hoped Bastian would return soon.
With the same friendly smile, he came to the table and placed the glass of Coke in front of me.
"Thanks."
With a slight swing, he sat down on the armrest next to me and gently clinked the glasses together.
After a long sip, he licked his lips. Since the cola had alcohol in it, I cautiously took a sip and placed the glass on the table. "Watch out, Tom!" rang in my ear.
“So Tom, tell me…” he asked gently, looking down at me expectantly.
“Hmm,” I thought frantically, “it’s my first time here today and…”
I wasn't quite sure what the word "gets to know each other" was. So I looked at him expectantly. But Bastian smiled, experienced enough not to be put off.
“What brings you to the pool of sin?”
“Just pure curiosity.”
“Are you studying or training?”
"Education."
"Friend?"
"No."
“You’re sweet,” he crooned, taking another sip.
"I know."
Bastian laughed and leaned quite close to me. I quickly realized he wanted to kiss me and leaned toward him. I smelled his alcoholic breath and recoiled.
"Hey, don't you like me?" he whispered in my ear, taking my chin in his hand. He gently turned my face, but I was disgusted by his warm alcoholic scent. I suddenly saw Sascha lying in the garage, and I thought I even smelled the same scent, and I jumped out of my chair. Bastian lost his smile. He stood before me, serious and very determined.
"You asshole! You think you're better than anyone?" he said harshly, making everyone turn around.
I felt pretty embarrassed and quickly left. As I walked, I saw that some of the guys were taking blue or white pills, but I couldn't care less. I just wanted to get out of there. I couldn't move fast enough in the hall, so I decided to blend in with the lively crowd.
I'd lost the desire to dance. It was dark enough below the gallery, so I stood against the wall. I didn't believe Bastian had seen me in the crowd.
When I looked around, I noticed that other boys were eyeing me or observing me. I could imagine that they perceived me as a newcomer. Many gave me the impression that they already knew each other in some way. They also appeared to be similar in their clothing. They kissed, exchanged a few words, sat on a boy's lap, and it all happened in a familiar, casual manner. I forced myself not to observe the others too closely. A few feet away from me, a boy was leaning against the wall, who, by all appearances, felt no different than me. He glanced over at me several times, a glass in his hand. I guessed he was at least the same age, except that, unfortunately, a cape covered his face. His jeans already looked quite worn, but that could have been intentional. I saw above the waistband that his shorts bore a well-known brand name. Also intentional, I thought calmly, the typical outfit after all.
What the heck, I told myself, one embarrassment is enough. I already knew that not everything would go smoothly. But I hadn't expected to be humiliated like that in front of others.
As I looked back at the guy in the cape, I caught a glimpse of his mouth and the tip of his nose. I thought he might be smiling. Oh well, it could be, I thought, and looked back at the dance floor. I was getting thirsty. I walked slowly and carefully, so as not to step on anyone's toes, to the nearest bar. Again, I tapped a Coke bottle and gave the money to the attendant. I was about to go back when the cape-wearing boy stood in front of me.
“Shall we dance?” he asked, but I read it more from his lips.
“Unfortunate!” I shouted back, pointing to the bottle in my hand.
We parted without a word. While I quenched my thirst, I briefly glimpsed the cape on the other side of the hall. I knew, at least, that I was being noticed.
I asked one of the boys sitting in front of me at the table what time it was. When I heard it, I muttered a curse and immediately looked for the exit. Almost four o'clock, Father was surely already waiting at home.
It had already become light and was pouring with rain. Even though I ran, I couldn't reach the tram, so I sought shelter from the rain in the glass area of the station.
I wondered whether I could get home faster: running or waiting for the next train. The sky was a solid gray, which surely meant it wasn't going to end anytime soon.
Even if I hurried, I'd still be walking in the rain for a good quarter of an hour. That would mean I'd arrive completely soaked. Father would probably already be waiting for me at home, asking endless questions. First, I needed a good portion of answers for Father, I thought to myself, and then I ran. One thing calmed me down: I didn't smell of alcohol. As I ran, the wetness slowly running down my back into my jeans, I shivered. My T-shirt stuck to my body and I blew the drops off the tip of my nose. At the next stop, I jumped under the glass roof and took a deep breath. When I looked up again, I saw the boy from the disco approaching.
“Shitty weather!” he said, breathing heavily.
Standing next to me soaking wet, the situation seemed strange. I actually had a feeling he was following me. Even though we were standing at a deserted bus stop, I looked around cautiously. Unlike in the disco, his proximity suddenly intimidated me.
I ignored him and didn't look back. Faster and faster, always along the tracks. I passed the next stop without stopping and ran as if my life depended on it. I finally saw the high-rise and thought I was alone. Slowing down, I stopped in the shelter of one of the old linden trees. I gasped for air. Five or six hundred meters, it couldn't be any more. I walked slowly on, raising my arms as I breathed deeply. I felt my wet clothes on my body again, but it didn't bother me anymore.
“Can you wait a minute!” a voice called from behind me.
I looked around in shock. There he was again, and pretty much exhausted. He just won't give up, I told myself, and hurried on.
“Please! Wait a minute!” I heard behind me.
He was practically dragging himself along. A grin crossed my face. Not exactly the endurance runner type. I wiped the wetness from my face.
“Are you running away from me or why are you running like that?” he asked, completely out of breath.
“I’m just in a hurry.”
"Aha, and I thought so..." he said with relief, already able to smile again. He took off his cape and shook the wetness out of his hair. It fell in long, shiny strands onto his shoulders.
"Shit weather!"
“You’re repeating yourself,” I remarked, amused, as his ears stuck out from between his wet hair.
“Where do you need to go?”
I pointed vaguely behind me.
“Do you live nearby?” was his next question.
That's how you question people, I warned myself. He's got it, and he just shows up at the door, I thought, and then what? I didn't even want to imagine it and remained silent. The rain poured down on us incessantly, but I didn't care. I couldn't get any wetter than I was now.
“What’s your name?” he asked, immediately holding out his hand to me. “My name is Christoph.”
I cautiously estimated that he showed persistent and relentless interest in me. I didn't find his manner unpleasant. I just wasn't as naive as him. For example, it would never occur to me to chase after someone just because I met them at the "Kuckucksei" disco.
“Tom,” I said calmly, shaking his hand briefly, “I have to go.”
We walked in silence and were already approaching the skyscraper.
“Well, I have to go there,” said Christoph, pointing in the direction of what I called the residential castle.
"There?" I asked him, surprised. What should I do now? I didn't want to go with him, because he would quickly find out where I lived.
“Yes, only recently,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s been a long story.”
My mind was racing. What should I tell him? That it wasn't so bad living there? No! That would only raise more questions. So I told him I had to move on and was about to say goodbye.
“Call me sometime?”
Since I hesitated, he asked if he could call me then.
“Not so fast. Please.”
“OK Tom, have a safe trip home,” he finally said, “next weekend at the Cuckoo’s Egg?”
I nodded wordlessly and watched Christoph jump over the puddles before disappearing into the entrance. It all seemed like an unreal dream. But the rain was already bringing me back to reality. I wiped my face. It didn't matter; I was late either way. Even if I didn't have to worry about a storm from Father, I certainly couldn't avoid an argument with him. I waited maybe another five minutes, then headed straight for the entrance.
A puddle of water remained in the elevator, and I rushed straight to the bathroom. I hung my wet clothes in the shower, and as I stood naked in the hallway, I was reassured that Father was asleep.
The wind was still whipping the rain against the windows and I fell into bed exhausted and tired.

With my arms crossed over my head, I reflected on last night. I could already laugh about the failed kiss with Bastian. What bothered me more was the fact that Christoph lived somewhere in the high-rise and we might run into each other at random.
What made me most uncomfortable was the thought of being seen with him. Anyone who knew him as gay would immediately assume I was too. And then what? I'd done everything I could to ensure that no one thought that way about me. Not my father, not Michael, and not Sascha either. First the encounter with old Kohlmann, and now this Christoph. Two big problems on the way from the eighteenth to Keller and back, I thought.
I jumped violently, but there was actually a knock at the door. Since when did Father knock? These are completely unknown places. There was another light knock.
“Yes?!” I said in surprise, and when the door opened a crack, I was startled again.
I pulled the covers up to my neck and immediately realized that Mrs. Helbig was looking in. Completely surprised, I checked to make sure I was actually in my room.
“Good morning, or better yet, good afternoon, Tom,” she said, and it was very real, I told myself.
„Moin.“
"Still breakfast or already lunch?" she asked, giving me her friendly motherly smile again. I looked at the clock in confusion. It was 1:00 p.m. I really didn't feel like eating, but I really needed Dad to explain to me what was going on.
"I'm going to get up first," I said, and waited for her to close the door. What was wrong with Father? I used to only hear when someone left in the morning, but a woman never stayed late. It was just a coincidence that she lived next door, he had said yesterday. Now she's taken over the kitchen? Who knows old people, I told myself, and was about to go into the hallway. I came to my senses and crept into the bathroom.
Her existence felt better when she was dressed, I judged, and found Father and Mrs. Helbig in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Father emphasized kindly, which meant nothing other than that it was high time.
„Moin.“
I stood undecided at the door, unsure if I was allowed to sit on the empty chair. For years, the two chairs had been enough for my father and me. But I didn't want to be rude. With her presence, my beer purchases at the discount store would soon no longer be a secret. Oh man, I need another source of supplies, fast.
“Please sit down, Tom,” she said, and now I saw that lunch was already sizzling on the stove.
Father put his head in his hands and seemed to be thinking. Well, what's next? I wondered, prepared for anything.
Father remained silent and seemed completely absorbed in himself. Mrs. Helbig placed a cup in front of me, and I took one of the rolls left over from breakfast. The coffee smelled somehow stronger, and tasted that way, too. So it could only have been made by her. Well done, I silently praised her.
Father rubbed his hands, which meant it was about to start.
“Well,” he said, “where were you yesterday?”
I paused. Why me now? You should explain what's going on here first, I thought.
“Disco only,” I said quietly, “we wanted to wait until the rain stopped, but it poured until this morning.”
"Alone?"
"With... Micha," I said cautiously, watching his eyebrows. They didn't twitch.
“Sascha’s mother called in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I see.” I explained to him what had happened to Sascha yesterday and that I had informed his parents as a precaution.
Father listened patiently and remained thoughtful.
“We had an agreement,” he reminded me and I nodded.
“I only had half a can… he’d already had over ten,” I defended myself calmly, because it was the truth.
"Okay," Father said contentedly, "just take care of Sascha. Maybe he's got problems."
I took a sip of the really delicious coffee with relief. Mrs. Helbig seemed to already feel at home. I also noticed that she found everything she needed without asking too many questions. In fact, it didn't even smell like cabbage rolls.
She probably noticed me watching her and smiled shyly.
“I’ve cooked for your father before, haven’t you, Harald?” she said, somewhat embarrassed, “you were always on the go.”
“It’s OK…” I said, and wanted to know, “once… twice or more often?”
She thought about it and came up with at least four times, but it could have been more.
"Tom, please," Father interjected, "Inge and I have known each other for weeks. I told you that."
I stopped hiding my grin, because I would have known that for sure. Father didn't like it when I asked him more about his acquaintances. Since I couldn't imagine him having sex anyway, I never asked persistently.
But after all, I continued to think about it, so this had been going on with the neighbor for weeks, longer than with any other woman before. Her name was Inge, and I guessed she was in her early forties. I left it to my father to judge her appearance. At least I liked her natural, maternal manner.
I only had vague memories of my mother. She died when I was five. I couldn't even say that I really missed her all those years. For me, father embodied both. When I was sick as a child, he sat by my bed and read me stories, or we played puppet shows together. He taught me to swim and ride a bike and helped me with my homework. When it came to high school and I became anxious about the increased pressure to perform, he was understanding, despite his heavy heart. When I was friends with Susanne for a short time in eighth grade, he was really considerate towards me.
“Harald, you still wanted to…” said Mrs. Helbig, who was setting the table in the living room.
“Yes, right,” Father cleared his throat and began to explain in his unmistakable way that they wanted to travel to Schwerin the following weekend.
Because my eyes widened and he looked at me so intently, he coughed embarrassedly and actually said that if I didn't want to stay alone for so long, then I could come along too.
“No, no!” I said quickly, “it’s okay.”
A whole weekend alone, when had I last had that, I thought, and I couldn't remember any.
Father had a regular job with the city. Monday through Friday, he left the house at 7:30 a.m. and usually returned at 5:00 p.m. We even used to go on vacation together, but not in recent years. Then we also spent three weeks together on vacation. Only this year, he got his vacation later. Even though I didn't feel controlled by him, I still liked being alone sometimes.
“Okay, please sit down at the table,” said Mrs. Helbig with a friendly smile.
I couldn't help but praise her for the delicious goulash. She thanked me with her caring smile and seemed really friendly.
“So you’ve been spoiled with such good food for weeks,” I remarked, and Father almost choked.
“Is that why you starved?” protested Father, who usually stuck to a ready meal.
"No, not that. Only, now I know why there were often only sandwiches," I joked and laughed.
Mrs. Helbig looked at me in disbelief and Father immediately pointed out that I shouldn't be taken seriously.
Father opened a bottle of wine and I asked if there was anything to celebrate.
"Not that," said Father, and with a quick glance at Mrs. Helbig, added, "not yet." As the glasses clinked, I thought I could tell they were staring at each other quite intensely. At least, their eyes sparkled for a moment.
Later I thanked them again for the good food and went to my room.
There was no message from Ben, and he wasn't online either. At first, I considered sending him a message, but decided against it. I should call Sascha, I thought. But I doubted he was available yet.
The weather wasn't exactly conducive to going to the beach. I actually didn't like Sundays because they limited the options for activities. First you slept in, then you had lunch, and then the first half of the day was over. The shops were closed, and on the streets, people strolled casually past the shop windows. I called that pure boredom.
I clicked on a few of my favorite pages, but there were only images I already knew. You always reach your limits, I told myself, and tried to find new CDs and maybe download them. Well, nothing that interested me.
Finally! The user "Silverboy1983" wrote to me, and I opened the email.
"Hi, little one," he wrote, "are you alone?" Hmm, him calling me "little one" didn't win me any points. If he asked if I was alone, that couldn't mean anything good.
"Yes," I replied and waited. I read in his profile that he was studying, and his personal interests and hobbies were fairly general. The picture only showed a slender torso, which bothered me because it remained impersonal.
I was wondering what you're wearing right now? Thanks, I thought, and was about to block him. I was just taking a shower, so nothing yet. Let him jerk off to it, I laughed quietly. But then he asked about the webcam. Well, okay, then, I wrote to him that I didn't have one.
That was it, and I blocked him as a precaution.
Sometimes it went on like that for days, and you even got used to it. Sometimes I even indulged in a cybersexual adventure. But that was more out of necessity, because you also had needs. Worse, though, were the ones who texted you for days and then turned out to be fakers; that was sometimes painful.
At least "Silverboy1983" got me to click on the relevant local websites. I read that the annual Pride Parade was taking place in two weeks and noted the date in my calendar. Even though I'd been avoiding the parade, I wanted to at least attend one of the street festivals. Last year, I overcame my inhibitions and practically sneaked there. Afterwards, I felt extremely excited because I knew I wanted to be a part of it.
The city's Lesbian and Gay Association website provided further information. In general, you could find all sorts of information there, from counseling services, club activities, event dates, to HIV and AIDS. It was already clear to me that protecting yourself was important. The only problem was, the condom packaging bore the dates of last year's Pride parade.
I didn't need condoms for myself, and I would have serious concerns if I casually put a pack on the checkout belt.
That's why I wanted to go to the street festival, where I could even get them for free.
The cell phone reported that Michael was on the other end.
“Hi Micha,” I greeted him immediately.
“Hey Tom! What are you doing?” he asked, sounding really happy.
“Nothing real,” I replied, “are you home already?”
"No, no," I heard, judging that Michael seemed rather exuberant, "that's why I'm calling. We're staying for a few more days, Katja and I, that is. I'm supposed to say hello!"
I rarely saw him like that, and he didn't seem drunk either. So it could only have something to do with Katja, I guessed, and wanted to congratulate him. But then it seemed cheap to me.
“Thank you and re…”
“So Tom, we’ll get in touch when we get back…” the rest was drowned out by giggles and I heard Katja laughing in the background.
"Yes, done."
Michael said nothing more. Hmm, then he's probably happily in love, I concluded. Oh yes, life could be so beautiful if one... Yes, what exactly? At least I didn't feel unhappy. I was on a journey of discovery, I judged myself. Surely Michael and Sascha were doing the same, only in their own way. Michael discovered his love for Katja. I got closer to my feelings by overcoming my inhibitions, and Sascha? What did Sascha want?
It seemed to me that he was actually trying to stop time. But that wasn't possible, partly because Michael and I couldn't.
I tore myself away from further thoughts and wrote an email to Ben. I told him that it was my first time at the "Cuckoo's Egg" and that I'd actually been hoping for a message from him. I intentionally omitted details from the "Cuckoo's Egg," only writing that I hadn't gotten home until the morning. I deliberately added the note that it was solely because of the new impressions.


I met Sascha on Monday. Shortly after noon, he rang my doorbell, still looking a bit battered. One of his father's slaps had given him a slightly blue eye. He mumbled something like an apology. I was at least relieved that he didn't hold it against me for informing his parents. When he described his relationship with his parents as pure terror, I interrupted him and firmly stated that I didn't like his drinking either.
Sascha nodded and agreed with me to the extent that, on the one hand, he was exaggerating. He felt he was stuck in a rut. Together, we considered what he wanted and what was possible. I found it just as difficult that he was concentrating exclusively on mechatronics engineering, as well as the fact that he had never considered alternatives. Although he seemed quite desperate, an apprenticeship away from home was out of the question for him. Being on his own was anathema to him, and the idea of not having any friends around him was also a nightmare.
Finally, I told him that we all had to understand that each of us had made new friends, and none of us could stop time. Sascha looked at me as if I had stabbed him and he could still tell me his last words. He asked me if I really saw it that way, and I nodded emphatically. But I assured him that we remained friends nonetheless.
We played on the computer all afternoon. Sascha occasionally paused his game, and when he returned to the topic, I noticed that he needed some time to get used to my train of thought.
When we went shopping together the next day, Sascha was back to his old self. He covered his bruise with sunglasses. This gave me the idea of using them as camouflage against an unexpected encounter with Christoph. Whenever I got into the elevator, I immediately stood against the back wall or covered my face with a cape. Sascha was already joking about my headgear, but I stuck to it.
In the discount store I told him about Mrs. Helbig
“That’s your father’s ‘shock lady’?” Sascha asked in front of the discount store and I confirmed it.
"So what," I replied, naturally refraining from further details. With Sascha, you always had to expect that his comments wouldn't be entirely rude.
"Man, dude. She might become your mother."
"Stepmother!" I corrected. We laughed about it.
That evening, Michael contacted me. He'd returned from an outing with Katja. As they sat on my bed, you could see the happiness in their eyes. I had to listen patiently to them tell me how they'd spent wonderful days with their grandparents. While they didn't have a beach, they did have a swimming lake.
We also talked about Sascha. I even mentioned that I'd convinced him to stop spending his weekly hours in the garage. The fact that we went our separate ways sometimes shouldn't hurt our friendship. Michael immediately agreed. They both liked my suggestion that we spend a day at the beach together.
I felt it was a shame that I couldn't share my email exchange with Ben with her. While I was growing increasingly aware that I was coming clean myself, only my spirit was willing. Ben wrote very nice, meaningful emails, and I described my time with my friends to him. I even printed out his emails and filed them in a special folder. I knew from page to page that Ben lived on the outskirts of town with his parents and his best friend, next door. He had his personal coming out at fifteen, and at that time he had a huge crush on a boy in his class. The friendship never came about because his fear was too great, and the boy had moved away. He suffered a great deal afterward and hasn't found a new "love" yet. To this day, he hasn't been able to talk to his parents, who were far too conservative for him and already had a complete life plan for him. First, high school diploma, then university, if possible even abroad, and after that, he could settle down and start a family. On the one hand, he felt confined, but it was impossible for Ben to break out.
When I described my situation at home to him, he immediately wrote back saying he was a bit envious. The way I saw it, Ben just wanted to take his time and not rush into anything.
The evening before, my father told me that he and Mrs. Helbig were leaving on Friday evening and would be back on Sunday. Besides the usual lectures about what I should be careful about, he gave me my pocket money and the food bonus. I promised him I wouldn't do anything stupid and wouldn't just live off kebabs. I was already getting used to him spending more and more of his evenings at the apartment next door.
As the first to arrive at the S-Bahn station, I greeted Sascha, Michael and Katja one after the other, and Helen came along too.
"Hello, Helen," Sascha said, as if he'd just taken a etiquette course. I was also surprised that he sat quietly next to me during the ride and even refrained from his usual snarky remarks.
"Are you not feeling well?" I asked cautiously, but Sascha informed me that he wasn't a child anymore. I was relieved to see that he was smiling about it.
Michael and Katja only had eyes for each other, and when they walked ahead of us holding hands, I felt a twinge of envy. Helen mostly walked beside me and otherwise remained taciturn or mostly silent. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching, we settled down on the beach. While the girls helped each other change, I used the protection of my sunglasses to give my friends a quick inspection of their naked bodies. Sascha, in particular, took his time, and I thought he probably wanted to impress Helen in particular. Before the others noticed my slight excitement, I decided to cool off and ran ahead into the cool, salty water.
We splashed each other and sometimes dunked each other under water. Sascha and I held hands, helping the others jump into the approaching waves. Even Helen thawed out a bit. Sascha refrained from any clumsy touches on Helen and at most made a face when she looked away. But my finger pointing was enough of a warning not to overdo it.
Refreshed and exuberant, we walked to our spot on the beach.
Michael oiled Katja, and Helen sat down next to me, waiting. Sascha threw himself into the hot sand, and whenever our eyes met, I saw his broad grin. I leaned toward him and gave him the middle finger, to which he just laughed wearily.